So I'm at Pilates with my legs up in the air just now and my phone rings. It's my parents. I figure I had better answer it just in case my dad had driven the car into the pool again or something. So I pick it up and it's my mom. Mom: "Goobie!!!!! I don't think you should have written the thing about Jack making margaritas in your last blog entry". Me: "Mom, anybody that thinks my child actually knows how to make margaritas is exactly who I was poking fun at in the first place. Sarcasm. Eleven-year olds do not make margaritas." Actually, it would be pretty cool if they could. I'd never have to get up. Maybe he could light my cigarettes too. What's that you say? I don't smoke? That's right. But if I did, I would claim that I sent Jack on foot to the closest 7-11 to purchase my ciggies. Smoke 'em if you got 'em!!!!! Sorry folks......I gots to go. My son is upstairs shaking me up a marg. I'm going to go blow smoke in his face while he rubs my bunions. This is the life!